Mind Game (GhostWalkers, #2)(30)

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.” She couldn’t help seeing the rigid length bulging beneath his jeans, and he made no effort to hide it. His unashamed display sent her body into overtime reaction so that she felt a curious throbbing where no throbbing needed to be. She grit her teeth together. “I can still feel you touching me.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I consider myself an innocent victim in this situation,” Nicolas said. “I’ve always had control, in fact I pride myself on self-discipline. You seem to have destroyed it. Permanently.” He wasn’t exactly lying to her. He couldn’t take his eyes or his mind from her body. It was an unexpected pleasure, a gift.

He was devouring her with his eyes. With his mind. A part of her, the truly insane part—and Dahlia was beginning to believe there really was one—loved the way he was looking at her. She’d never experienced a man’s complete attention centered on her in a sexual way before. And he wasn’t just any man. He was . . . extraordinary.

“Well, stop all the same,” she said, caught between embarrassment and pleasure.

“I don’t see why my having a few fantasies should bother you.”

“I’m feeling your fantasies. I think you’re projecting just a little too strongly.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You mean you can actually feel what I’m thinking? My hands on your body? I thought you were reading my mind.”

“I told you I could feel you touching me.”

“That’s amazing. Has that ever happened before?”

“No, and it better not happen again. Good grief, we’re strangers.”

“You slept with me last night,” he pointed out. “Do you sleep with many strangers?” He was teasing her, but the question sent a dark shadow skittering through him. Something dark and dangerous stirred deep inside of him.

Her eyes jumped to his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She looked around quickly. “Should I cut the engine?”

Nicolas sat up a little straighter. She was so tuned to him, even that smoldering jolt of jealousy was noticed. “We’re fine.” But he was uncertain if it was the truth. He was beginning to be alarmed at how they seemed so aware of one another. Nicolas didn’t experience emotions such as anger and jealousy. He had fine-tuned his mind to filter out such things, yet Dahlia was shattering an entire lifetime of conditioning.

“Tell me what’s wrong. I know I’m not the average person, but I’m an adult, and despite having lived in a sanitarium and having a nurse raise me, I’m not completely insane. I don’t want you treating me as less than an equal.”

Nicolas studied her expression. Her dark eyes were spitting fire at him. Maybe that was the problem. She was melting the ice everyone said flowed in his veins. “When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know. I don’t believe I’ve treated you as a child or as if you were insane, nor less than an equal. And it wouldn’t matter what you thought, if you care to know the truth. I do what I think is right, and I’m not going to worry about what you’re thinking.” His words surprised him more than they did her. Was he stating a hard fact or striking out at her? Nicolas rubbed his jaw with the heel of his hand. Facing death was easier than talking to women any day of the week.

“Well that’s good, because I’m exactly the same way. I guess we understand each other.” She turned her head away from him, nose in the air, looking a bit like a drowned princess.

The sun was climbing into the sky and definitely providing a backlight. His gaze once again dropped to her breasts thrust against the thin material of his pale blue shirt. The shirt had become an instant favorite. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing he could do the same to her nipple.

Dahlia’s breath hissed out of her throat. Slowing the boat, she swung back toward him, glaring. “What is so damned fascinating about breasts? If I show them to you will you stop?” Her hands went to the buttons of the shirt as if she might really rip the material open. There was color in her face and her breath came too fast. “I once heard that men thought about sex every three minutes but you must be setting some sort of record.”

“It isn’t just any breasts, Dahlia.” He reached for the canteen of water. His hand was shaking. Actually shaking. Just the thought of her opening her shirt sent his body into a painful, hard, unrelenting ache.

“Well I have them, okay? Just like any other woman. They’re there. I can’t do much about it.”

Nicolas took a long pull of water and nearly choked as she angrily unbuttoned the shirt and allowed the edges to gape open all the way to her waist. Her breasts were fuller than he’d first thought, jutting forward to tempt him more.

She was beautiful. Her skin was amazing. He swallowed hard. “I don’t think that was a good idea.”

Dahlia realized instantly she’d made a terrible mistake. His black eyes went from ice cold to a raging fever. His hand gripped the canteen until small dents appeared. Energy leapt between them, fierce and passionate, feeding on him, feeding on her, threatening to consume them both. At once she was hot, her clothes too heavy, too cumbersome, her skin too sensitive. She wanted to rip the shirt away, feel his hands, his mouth, sliding over her skin. She wanted things she’d never dreamed or thought of. Had no idea she even knew of.

The distance between them melted away. His body touched hers, his bare chest rubbing against the tips of her breasts. His hands tunneled in the wealth of her silken hair, fisted, holding her still while he bent down, his gaze as fierce and intent as the energy surrounding them, holding them captive in its burning center. He dragged her head toward his. His mouth fastened on hers, took possession. Fire leapt from her to him, raged between them. The kiss went on and on. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.